Neue Studenten an der Akademie
by Iridescent Fallout
Summary: We've got two new German exchange students and a somewhat hyperactive nerdy athlete to show them around and teach them the ropes of how it is to attend an American academy, amongst other loads of bullshit and poppycock. So far, rated T for language and slightly suggestive themes, perhaps later on? No pairings as of yet! (or maybe you aren't squinting hard enough.)
1. Audience of One

**Yooo. 'Sup? So, it's my first time writing a full-fledged fanfic and wanting to really get in with it. Oooh yeah. So, excuse me if it sucks ass? I've never nailed a commitment to anything before so I'm a little shaky. **

**Oh god what have I gotten myself into? Shit.**

**Well, here you go~!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia. ****oh but if i did huehuehueh**

**WARNINGS: I don't think there's really a need for any? Well, there's some cursing here and there, probs some sexual references, but only in joking ways? Eh. Oh, and MASSIVE YAOI. IF YOU NO LIKE, MOVE ALONG. **

**Inspired by the #pruame tag on Tumblr. God, that tag gives me life. Oh and also the #germerica . mmhmm. Awww yiissss.**

**NOTE: When displaying the German accent that Gilbert and Ludwig have when speaking English, it has a quirk when typing it out. When saying something that ends in **_**"-ing",**_** it comes out verbally as **_**"-ink", **_**but due to aesthetic purposes, I won't use it except for the words **_**"something"**_**, **_**"anything",**_** and **_**"everything",**_** or **_**"somezhink", "anyzhink"**_** and **_**"everyzhink".**_** The **_**"w"**_** sound is usually replaced with a **_**"v",**_** though this only goes with the **_**"wuh"**_** sound, coming out as **_**"vuh".**_** Words that typically begin with **_**"th"**_** such as **_**"this"**_** or **_**"that"**_** usually are replaced with a **_**"zh",**_** making them **_**"zhis"**_** and **_**"zhat".**_** The only exception/addition to the rule is **_**"so",**_** replaced by **_**"zho". **_**Also, when saying things like **_**"you"**_** or **_**"your",**_** a **_**"jay"**_** sound replaces the **_**"y",**_** making it **_**"jou"**_** or **_**"jour".**_** It's kind of complex. Also, I've heard some Germans have a hard time pronouncing the "th" sound, so if it comes across, such as in "breath", you can imagine it sounding more like "breat". If this is wrong, please feel free to correct me!**

**Also, I know that with the **_**"z/th"**_** and **_**"v/w"**_** clauses, you usually don't add the **_**"h",**_** but I do it because it just looks aesthetically pleasing to me. Whoopsies.**

**Zho, if jou zhink jou have zhe hang of it all, don't vorry about anyzhink else! **_**Verdammt**_**, zhis is fun! If you think it needs a few tweaks here and there, just tell me! I'm open to review.**

**Hope it all makes sense. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter I: Audience Of One.**

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It was a pretty normal day, a great day to be the hero! Then again, every day was just that kind of day for Alfred F. Jones.

Well, the start of his morning was anything but heroic. It was an average, normal-guy day. But no, he wouldn't let that go on for long! Normalcy wasn't his policy!

"Al."

"…"

"Alfred."

"…Mmmngh…"

"Alfred Jones, get up."

A heavy snort. "..Ugh, noo…"

"Al, if you don't get up, you'll let your breakfast get cold."

"Soo?.."

"You're going to run late."

"Nothin' new…leave me be, you heathen…"

A soft sigh of annoyance sounded in the air, and the shuffling of feet becoming distant told the hero that this horrible heathen was gone. He could sleep some more. Just five more minutes…

_"Alfred!"_

The teen's eyes flew open and he sat up, nearly rolling off the bed in the process if a hand hadn't stopped him, pushing on his shoulder. Looking up he seemed to see a reflection of himself, only slightly different in feature. This supposed copy of him wore rounded glasses, had blue-violet optics behind the lenses, and his soft downy blonde hair was parted in the middle as compared to his being parted on the right. The golden locks cascaded rather beautifully, longer than his own and bouncing in soft waves. The face that looked down on him belonged to his twin brother, Matthew. And he didn't look happy.

"You slept in! Why didn't you get up when I told you to?"

Alfred didn't answer right away in his haze, looking around the room sharply. His eyes caught the red blurry numbers of his alarm clock, and he grimaced. Shit.

"The bus is outside. I'll try to stall her as much as I can. Get up."

Matthew, looking red in the face, quickly rushed out of the room, leaving Alfred to his own devices. The American groaned and ran a hand back through his hair, whimpering in distaste. Goddammit, he was going to be late again. He already missed dawn's football practice…he was going to be chewed out by his coach come afterschool time…oh, whatever, worry about that later, he chided himself as he bolted out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom that connected between his room and Matthew's for their use, stripping on the way. Alfred being the man he was, he nearly connected his face with the sink countertop as he shook off his underwear. Deciding to multitask, he grabbed the toothbrush and squeezed a glob of the minty green sludge onto the bristles, shoving it in his mouth as he jumped in the shower, almost shouting at the freezing cold water, but going on about his bathroom rituals at four times the speed as he clambered around to get clean.

Matthew ran outside and up to the bus, the doors sliding open with a _pssh _as he approached. The bus driver looked a bit irritated at the loss of the twin brother that usually accompanied the other, and she pursed her lips, ruby red from the bright lipstick she chose to wear today, matching with her red driver uniform, which was really just a dark red polo T-shirt and khakis.

"Hello, ma'am, sorry to cause trouble."

"Mm-hmm."

Matthew seemed to fidget in his spot under the lady's condescending brown gaze. She drew out a long sigh after a few seconds, standing the Canadian to attention. "How long's he gonna be this time?"

"Not long at all."

"Put your stuff down and go get him hurryin', then. I don't have time to waste on you two again."

"Sorry, sorry, I'll get him out here."

Matthew dropped his messenger bag near her feet as she had gestured for him to, and hopped off the bus, dashing back inside only to see a mostly naked Alfred running around with a toothbrush in his mouth and a towel shaking out his hair, a cup in his free hand. Matthew yelped and covered his eyes, reddening along his cheeks again as he shrieked, "Al! Where are your clothes?"

" 'm p'ttin' 'em on, Jeshush Chr'sht." The younger twin mumbled through the plastic brush and foam, working on a pair of semi-skinny jeans one-handed with slight difficulty as he rushed around with a towel still over his head, spitting out the foam and spit in the kitchen sink and letting the tap run as he rinsed off his toothbrush and downing the mouthwash he held in his other hand, tossing the cup in the sink and swishing around the stinging liquid in his mouth as he tossed the towel on the counter and slipped on the red and blue T-shirt over his still slightly damp torso, which had been hooked on his arm before. Spotting the undressed pancakes on the counter, which Matthew had made, he grabbed a few of them and shoved one in his mouth, not minding the slightly bland taste as he buckled his belt, again one-handed, then ran upstairs again, swallowing the cake and popping a second one in his mouth.

"Al! What're you doing now? C'mon, she might leave us!"

"The wench doesn't have the heart to!" Alfred shouted back as he came down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder, a pair of running shoes shoved onto his feet. Pushing the third and final pancake into his mouth he grabbed Mattie by the arm and tugged him outside, grabbing his windbreaker jacket and his pair of house keys on the way out, things Matthew had already done before he had come in to wake his brother up for the second time. "C'mon!"

"Ow, ouch, careful, careful!" Matthew muttered as he tugged away from his brother's freakishly strong grasp, heading along with him as the two of them ran up the bus steps rather haphazardly, crashing in an empty seat together with a long sigh of relief.

"Thanks," The elder brother was sure to thank their service woman in a breathy whisper. All he got back in reply was a click of the tongue and the shutting of the doors before she sped off in the direction of the high school.

Due to differing last names, Matthew and Alfred had separate classes for the most part, sharing only a couple in the seven-period school day. As such, they rushed into different classes at differing times—lucky Matthew was blessed with a first-period Calculus class close to the front of the school, whereas Alfred had to deal with an AP European History class in the middle of the labyrinth of hallways. Matthew had been able to almost invisibly slip into his class without a problem, whereas Alfred had no choice but to make a slight ruckus about it, almost slamming open the classroom door with a tardy pass in hand. At least he hadn't tried to rush to class this time, he was smart enough to stop by the attendance office because he knew he would undoubtedly be late this time.

The class, mostly fixated on answering a few questions written up on the whiteboard as a walk-in quick grade, hardly stirred when the golden blonde came in the room, panting slightly and square-rimmed glasses slightly askew on his face. A few looked up to take notice, but only went back to work. He noticed two new faces, unfamiliar to him, standing by the door—one of them he had run into. Looking up at the slightly taller student, a light blonde male with piercing icy blue eyes and a strong, broad physique, he muttered his sincerest apologies as he slipped past to slap his pass on the teacher's desk, who was just now taking roll, and took his seat on the right side of the classroom, up next to the wall, in the fair middle of the room. When the surname "Jones" was called he answered breathlessly with a monotone "Here." Taking out his binder he flipped to the "History" section of the dividers and flipped to a new loose-leaf note page, quickly beginning to scribble down the problems on the board to answer them, finding difficulty in the third problem before shrugging it off and setting down his pen, going on to lightly chew on the end as a habit.

The instructor stood up, the class gathering to a quiet attention as she stood at the center at the front of the room, beckoning the two new students closer. Both had their chests out with pride, though their eyes, sets of blue and reddish-violet, gave off the impression of slight uneasiness, common among those who were new in attendance.

"We have two new faces to welcome to our school. Here we have Ludwig,"

"_Hallo_." The taller blonde nodded, his tone brash with a heavy German accent.

"-And Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Gilbert Beilschmidt just gave a wave and a small grin, through the smile didn't seem to reach his eyes right away.

"They are foreign exchange students from Germany. Any of you, feel free to give them a tour in your spare time, or direct them in the right direction when asked for such."

A girl raised her hand, and the teacher nodded in her direction. "Do they speak English?"

"Vell, vhat do jou zhink, _frau_?" Gilbert put a hand on his hip and jutted it to the side in a sassy, sarcastic manner as if to prove his point. "Ve vouldn't come here completely blind to jour language, zho let's get zhat straight, hm?" Alfred couldn't help but contain a smirk at the attitude the albino brother displayed. Sass alert. It was a stupid question to be asked.

"Zhat being said," Ludwig spoke up, his voice deep and slightly more understandable than his brother's, "Ve don't know everyzhink about zhe Englisch language."

"Zhat's vhy I said _completely_ blind." Gilbert jutted in for good measure. Ludwig opened his mouth to say something in response, but the teacher was able to cut in just before, dismissing them to any seat to their liking that was empty at the moment, and there weren't many.

As fate would have it, there were three empty seats in the entire classroom—one next to Alfred, as his brother had moved classes due to abrupt schedule changes at the beginning of the semester, one behind him next to a junior with long ashen blonde hair that hung below his chin and brushed at his shoulders, tied loosely by a hairtie that hung loosely off his shoulder with blue eyes and a light stubble along his jaw, and another in the back of the room. Deciding to be somewhere close to his brother so he could keep an eye on him, Ludwig muttered something in Gilbert's ear in rough German, and the two walked off in the direction of the two closest seats, Gilbert taking the seat next to the aforementioned male with the longer hair, Ludwig sitting in the seat in front of him. Almost immediately chatter began to softly exchange between the two behind him, and he gruffly rolled his eyes before returning his attention to the front as the teacher began her instruction, firstly on the questions that were written on the board to be answered.

As the questions and their answers were beginning to be gone over, Alfred lightly tapped the new student next to him with his pen, biting his lower lip anxiously. He didn't think he was too great around new people, but he decided he might as well make a shot at it—and ask him a quick question about one of the problems. He seemed plenty smart enough. Ludwig turned his head to see a hand offered out to him. An eyebrow raised in question, but he took the hand in his own, giving it a firm shake.

"Alfred."

"Ludwig."

"If you need any help, just ask. But as of right now, I was hoping you'd help me on something. It's small, really."

"Vhat is it?"

Alfred scooted his binder over slightly for the other to see, the larger German student leaning over slightly to read the scrawls. They weren't very neat, but it wasn't incomprehensible, either. It took him a bit to convert from German to American English as he read, and Alfred noticed, but didn't say anything.

"Define zhe 'Age of Anxiety'." Ludwig read under his breath, trying to keep quiet for the sake of the teacher's speaking. He realized Alfred's question probably could've been answered as they went over the problems and their answers, but he didn't say anything about it in the case he would be rude. No need to give a rude first impression much like his brother had.

"Mm-hm." Alfred nodded, propping his elbows up on the desk and cupping his face in his hands, watching the other breezily.

The German arched an eyebrow. "Don't jou have notes on any of zhis?"

"Well, we were supposed to fix up a bunch of flashcards for this kind of thing. I forgot to do them last time." He gave a sheepish smile under the blonde's somewhat intense gaze. Apparently 'slacking off' wasn't his kind of going about things. Fuckin' Germans.

"And vhy is zhat?" His tone seemed strained—this sort of behavior reminded him of a certain someone from time to time.

"Football practice is pretty important, okay?" Alfred defended himself with a small pout, shifting his cheek into one hand as the other took a hold of the pen he had been using, twirling it between his fingers as he spoke. "Especially since it's the season for the games. Competition's real heavy. I often have to stay after until past nine o' clock, can't get much done." He blew a raspberry in exasperation. "But of course, teachers tend to forget that some kids actually participate in afterschool extracurricular activities."

"_Verdammt_, I see." Well, it was an adequate excuse, unless these supposed flashcards were easy to do and one could get done in under an hour. But considering he saw that this was a college course class, one that the students more or less had no choice in taking, he could figure that this probably wasn't the case. "Vell, it vas just a period of time vhen zhe vorld started questioning zhe meaning of life due to the brutality of zhe Great Var, 1918 through 1950."

"Thanks." The golden blonde shifted back into his seat to quickly scrawl the answer down in the space he left for it as the other leaned back to sit up in his own chair, watching ahead. He was surprised the other seemed to understand what he was saying without too much of a problem. A lot of people he'd met before often had a bit of trouble hearing him clearly due to his accent. He supposed it could be worse…his brother's was a bit heavier, more sporadic at times.

As the end of the class drew near, after a lengthy lecture over the French Revolution—as the odd curriculum liked to bounce back and forth between time ages and such—and even more notes to quickly write down before the instructor flipped the slide of the PowerPoint Presentation, Ludwig leaned over again to the one sitting next to him, who seemed to be jotting down the last minute notes left up on the board.

"Hey, er, Alfred, right?" He inquired. The other didn't look up just yet, but mumbled a "Yeah, gimme a sec." in reply as he finished up the last few bullet points and sentences. The German exchange student patiently waited as the American finished up and shut his binder, watching intently until the other returned the gaze. "What's up?"

"I know it might be a lengthy favor, but I don't suppose jou could…show _mein Bruder_ and I around, could jou?" Ludwig almost looked embarrassed to ask of such a thing, and Alfred just beamed, shrugging and bringing his backpack around to the front of him, packing his binder and pen inside. "No problem, I don't mind. It's a pretty big school, don't need to get lost."

"_Ja_, I vas thinking zhe same thing." He nodded in agreement, packing up his own binder. "Vhen do jou zhink jou can spare zhe tour?"

"Mmnh, I'm sure I can spare some time afterschool. I'll just have to let my coach know beforehand, otherwise he'll hit me over the head with that damn clipboard of his." He chuckled. "Where's your next class?"

Ludwig just fished a folded paper out of his pocket and handed it to the other, who unfolded the meticulously folded sheet and looked it over quickly. "Well, we won't see each other again until fifth period, after lunch. I don't know what period lunch you'll have." At the slight tilt of the head from the light blonde, Al elaborated, "Lunch is divided into separate periods of time to accommodate the school's size. Freshies have the first block, sophomores the second, and typically the juniors and seniors have the third block cause it's smaller. But, sometimes a student can be placed in a period different than their normal one. You'll be told by your fourth period teacher, no worries."

The bell overhead rung, and the class stood up, some leaving quickly, and others more slowly, to chat or to get their things together. Alfred clapped his hand on Ludwig's strong shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile, pearly white and dancing. "Good luck, pal. Your Calculus class is near the front of the school. If you get lost, follow the numbers above the doors. See you 'round, _tschüss!"_

Ludwig looked a bit lost for words as the other had given him a farewell in perfect German, and an informal one at that, but before he could question it, Alfred had absconded the classroom for his next class. "Um, _ja, auf wiedersehen._" He muttered as he stood after letting Gilbert and his newfound friend pass him by, gathering his things and going after his sibling, knowing he'd have to keep an eye on him. He was a bit rambunctious at times.

The food was odd, what was served in the cafeteria, and smelled strange more often than not, Ludwig noted with his brother's subtle agreement, _"Vhy does it smell like somezhink's burning in here? Is zhat zhe food? Mein Gott, zhe rumors are true!"_ And those rumors were indeed true of this American cafeteria—the food smelled foul and probably didn't taste any more appetizing. He also noted to bring their own lunches for tomorrow, and the day after that, and for the rest of school in general, really. He understood that the food had to be cooked in mass production to feed so many students, but it could've at least been done right.

Well, that was old news. The rest of the day had passed on pretty quickly, with new and seemingly increasingly awkward with each new introduction the two brothers had to make at the beginning of each class period, even in the ones where they were separate, which were only two out of the whole seven due to grade purposes—due to a malfunction in the system as they exchanged across both national borders and school systems, a few of their classes were repeats of what they had taken the year before. However, Ludwig remained ahead with his Calculus class, a senior's class, as that was the only one that transcribed correctly. Gilbert was supposed to be ahead as well, especially since he was a senior before, but that information didn't make it. They were now both in the same grade as juniors in high school, with Ludwig only ahead with his twelfth grade mathematics class. It was something that had Gilbert pretty miffed the whole day once he had found out about the transaction error, but he learned to get over it. It would make the year easier, no? Just had to slide by it and deny any implications made by other people that he had failed a grade due to his age difference from Ludwig.

Things were complicated.

"Do you even know vhere zhis guy is?" Gilbert asked his younger sibling rather impatiently as he leaned against the wall, fidgeting in his formal dress apparel, as he was just about forced to wear to his first day of school, even though it was near the end of the first semester. He tugged at his collar in discomfort, Ludwig giving him a disapproving stare. "He said he'd meet me here in zhe fifth period. It's only a few minutes after zhe bell."

"Count on an American to be late," Gilbert grumbled, and Ludwig's state turned slightly icy. "You're hardly better, zho hush."

Just as this exchange was over with, a flash of red and blue swiveled in front of them, halting to a staggering stop. He looked slightly out of breath, his backpack gone from his possession. "Shit shit shit," He muttered harshly, looking up to see the other two. "Hey, sorry, I know I'm late, teacher held me back for a few minutes." He apologized quickly. Ludwig nodded in approval, for he had a reason. Gilbert rolled his eyes with a snort. "Vhy are you zho out of breath all of a sudden?"

"Um, running across the school to meet you guys here isn't exactly optimal right now. I have to hurry to my coach, like, right now. So, you guys are going to have to come with. Might as well show you the football field and track and crap, come on!"

And without any other warning, Alfred sped off. He was quicker than he looked, and had the German brothers scrambling after him, shouting "Vait!" or "Slow down!" on their way. Damn, he was fast! He seemed to have no problem turning sharp corners either, they noted as Gilbert nearly slammed into the lockers trying to turn in their high speed chase, mumbling curses quite crossly as he regained his balance and went after the two that were now ahead of him.

Alfred burst through two large metal doors, with Ludwig and Gilbert not too far behind, slipping past just as they started to close. The texture under their feet had changed from tile to concrete to choppy rubber in a matter of seconds, and soon enough they found themselves standing in the track of a large field marked with white along certain edges and making certain patterns in the grass. They had to quickly move out of the way as a bunch of sweating athletes dashed past them.

Gilbert growled to himself and swiveled his head, looking for the one they had run through so many hallways following. He caught sight of the blonde over by another man in a black T-shirt and a pair of dark green jogging shorts. He wore an odd white mask that only covered his eyes.

"You're late, Jones!" The masked man scolded Alfred, "Ten laps! Get going!"

"No no no, not so fast!" Alfred shook his head rapidly, hands waving with him in denial. Looking around for those he was "escorting", he spotted them and beckoned them over hastily. "I gotta take care of these guys first. Show 'em around."

"Vhat are zhey playing? Rugby? I zhought he said he had football practice," Ludwig said quietly as they began to approach. Gilbert made a snorting noise of amusement. "It is football_. American football_. Zhey call normal football 'soccer' for some reason. It doesn't make sense."

"Damn right it doesn't," Ludwig muttered just as they became within earshot and came up beside Alfred, who was smiling nervously at the man in the mask. Said man seemed to be considering it, looking the brothers over. "Yeah, they look new, don't they? Alright, I'll give you forty-five. Should be enough. Any five minutes after you're getting another lap to your ten for being late. Go on, now!"

"Thanks, coach! C'mon, you two. Y'all got me in enough trouble already." Alfred glanced over at them with a grin, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Gilbert opened his mouth to protest, but shut it anyway and shrugged as they tailed along behind their guide.

"…Aaaand that's just about it. It's a bit to take in, I know."

Alfred stopped just in front of the male's locker room door, heading inside with the other two behind him. Ludwig crinkled his nose at the foul scents of musk, sweat, and heavy body spray. "Ugh, it smells like a rat's _arsch_ in here." Gilbert commented as he glanced around, tracing his hand along the green and white walls as he followed the other two around a corner. Alfred had already stepped over to a bench to sit down in front of a large display of green lockers. He had sat down in front of a particular one, messing with the numbered lock keeping others from inside before unlocking it and setting it aside. "Yeah, I know it's not pleasant, no need to tell me twice." He stood up and took the hem of his shirt in his hands, about to lift it off of himself before he coughed and turned his head over to the other two males in the room, furrowing his brow slightly. "Uh, could ya guys turn around for a sec? I don't particularly like people watching me strip."

They both turned around without so much of a problem as Alfred began to change not three feet away. "So, any questions you guys got for me? I'm all ears."

'Vell, vhat's vith zhe football? Vhy don't you call it rugby like everyone else?" Ludwig couldn't help but ask, and Alfred just smiled, shaking his head as he pulled on a different shirt and began to take out pieces of equipment, heaving on a set of shoulder pads with a grunt. "It's different. Rugby is more of a mix between American football, soccer, and basketball in terms of contact, running, and advancing, respectively. In rugby you run hell of a lot more than you do in our football, which is mainly sprinting. Plus, compared to rugby, football has a lot more contact, and it's more brutal. I've broken a bit here and there just playing. It explains the heavy gear." He explained as he pulled on a pair of long shorts with pads underneath, sitting down and reaching inside the locker. "You guys can turn around if you want now."

Hesitantly, the both of them turned to address him, looking slightly surprised at what he was wearing now. _Gear?_ What was he doing, heading into a battlefield? What was with the heavy padding? Nothing like rugby, for sure.

"Oh, and I don't know exactly why we call it football. The name just stuck, I dunno." He knew that was the next question to come up as he pulled on his long socks, followed by a pair of cleats, slipping on the green, black, and white jersey on afterward. On the back of the jersey displayed the number '50' with an eagle, mid-flight, stamped on the back, emblazoned as the mascot of the team.

"Are zhere other sports to partake in?" Gilbert asked almost enthusiastically, coming to a carefree sit on the bench. Ludwig looked at his watch. Five minutes, otherwise Alfred would be late.

"Yeah. Just has to come in season for some." Alfred nodded, slipping on a pair of gloves as he thought about the list, "There's soccer, basketball, volleyball for the women's teams, competitive swimming, field and track, kickboxing…" He counted off on his fingers, "I try to do them all, but that's just a lot to do, so I stuck with a few. It's how I try and keep in shape, like most athletes, we keep going with the games, no matter the season. You can always tryout. Registration's with the coaches. You'll have to consult them for it."

With a stand and a final pat down to make sure all of his equipment was in place, Alfred slipped on the dark green helmet, eagle's head on the side, beak parted in a permanent war cry and amber eyes blazing with competition. With another grin he turned so he faced the brothers, giving his helmet a good few, hard knocks.

"Well, you guys are lucky that today there's a game. You're welcome to watch us practice before it, but you don't have to. Just a chance to start learning what good 'ol America's about."

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**Oh, the absolute crap that had been pulled out of my ass. What joy, what joy.**

**Well, this is what I could come up with in two hours at two, almost three in the morning. When lady Muse calls, you come. You must come.**

**Haha, wow, this is so shit. Nothing great came out of this chapter ahaaahahaha**

**Well, in the next chapter all I know is that there's gonna be a heavy game goin' on, and the brothers have more to meet and see. Ahhh this is going to be boring.**

**In the next chapter I also hope to give you a little more insight on what the school looks like and how it runs. It's slightly complex. ****also I have to draw these babies augh so precious**

**Um. So. Yeah. Not much else? **

**Translations:**

"**Hallo." – "Hello."**

"**Frau." – "Girl/Lady."**

"**Verdammt." – "Damn."**

"**Mein Bruder." – "My brother."**

"**Ja." – "Yes."**

"**Tschüss." – "Goodbye(informal)."**

"**Auf Wiedersehen." – "Goodbye(formal)."**

"**Mein Gott." – "My God."**

"**Arsch." – "Ass."**

**Reviews are always appreciated, as are ideas for future chapters **_**please I beg of you**_**. **

**No, I will not foretell as to what pairings will be in here.**

**I will leave you guessing on your own.**

**Not much else to say, so toodles~!**


	2. Smack Down

**Wooo, yes, another chapter! And so quickly, too! I've been enjoying my Spring Break pretty well(despite the rest of my friends going on a tour along the East Coast for our academy without me 'cause I'm fuckin' broke), so I might as well keep writing! I have nothing better to do.**

**Agh, I didn't mean to put it that way! I just found a lot of time on my hands is all, might as well put it to some good use!**

**Here's the second chapter. Enjoy?**

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**Chapter II: Smack Down.**

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**[AUTHOR'S NOTE: i really don't know what to title my chapters]**

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Practice seemed…interesting enough. It was basically just a lot of running around and slamming into people relentlessly as they tossed a brown ball around, shouting undecipherable codes or whatever. It seemed like an odd sport to take part of, but maybe it was just the people?

No, he shouldn't judge so quickly.

Well, the people did seem…odd. Did the school have a foreign complex or something? Every individual he'd seen so far seemed to be from a different country or region of the world.

Ludwig shook his head. He shouldn't worry about such trivial things. It was mere coincidence, an odd yet comforting circumstance. The people he'd seen so far probably had to give their awkward introductions as well when they first arrived wherever they went, had to learn English as a second language, had to move from the comfort of their own home just to seek out better education, or other reasons. They weren't the only ones, and in that alone did he find a small solace. It just meant he couldn't be teased about it, right? Not that he'd let anyone tease them. Neither of them would; Gilbert had a loud mouth, ready to talk shit back to anyone else if need be, and Ludwig had little problem with flipping anyone onto the asphalt if they dared to insult the Beilschmidt family name.

"Hey, Lud, quit spacin' out on me, vill jou?" He was aroused from his thoughts as an elbow lightly jabbed into his forearm, making him turn his head to the albino sibling next to him, whose oddly colored yet beautifully shining optics were gleaming slightly with interest, this attraction mostly directed towards the game he had been so closely observing from their seat up on the empty bleachers. "I asked jou a question."

"Nnh? Vhat is it?" He almost sounded bored, words sounding heavy as if he were about to yawn, but the yawn was stuck in his throat.

"I asked if jou vanted to go home. I'm staying to vatch zhe game—your friend said it vas going to start soon." He gestured with his head as to whom he was talking about, Ludwig turning his head to see. Alfred was standing in the middle of the field, waving his arms and doing different motions Gilbert oddly enough understood without much of a trouble. The two exchanged a few more wild gestures before grinning at each other for the odd show they were giving each other, and Ludwig raised his eyebrow, glancing up at his older brother, who was now standing. "Vhat did he say?"

"Says zhe opening of zhe gates vill be in _zwanzig minuten._ In other vords, the psychotic fans vill be rolling in soon from both sides. It's a 'home game' today."

"Und jou assumed zhis in just zhose few gestures?"

"Kinda. I'm also kind of assuming. Zho, jou going or staying? I have my key."

Ludwig wasn't so sure. He had homework, of course, and was ready to work on it at anytime, not wanting to stay up too late to finish it, plus he didn't know how long the game would be going on. Before he could work up an answer, Gilbert started suddenly sliding past him and going down the metal stairs to go to the front of the stands. He glanced behind him and beckoned his younger brother with a smile—Alfred was running up towards the fence. Ludwig had no other choice but to get up and go see what was up.

"Hey-o, you two," Alfred greeted as he took off his helmet, placing it under his arm to hold. His golden hair was askew, sticking up here and there other than the always defiant cowlick that seemed to stay up no matter what, untamable. "Well, one of you looks bored out of his mind!" He laughed, not pointing out which brother it was out of courtesy, though it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. A red heat flushed on the taller's cheeks for a few seconds, earning a small snicker from the one on his left. "So, you guys staying for the game?" He leaned his arm on the edge of the fence, fidgeting a bit in his spot. "You don't have to, at all. You'll just be missing the assbeating we'll be giving the other team." He have a large playful grin, which only lasted a few seconds before he was rammed to the ground by a unfamiliar player, still fully clothed in his uniform to distinguish. On the back, above the number, read 'Køhler'.

"Fuck..!" Alfred groaned into the dirt, and hearty laughter sounded from the one who just tackled him to the ground, the aggressor standing up off of him and holding his hand out for his victim to take. Alfred turned over onto his back, coughing slightly, before gripping the hand and pulling himself up with a grunt. "Man, was that necessary?" He shoved at the other with a breathy laugh, and the other gave a shrug and a nod, pulling off his own helmet. The male beneath the helmet was revealed to have wild light ashen blonde hair sticking up in many directions, though primarily in a swoop to his right. His blue eyes danced with unspoken cheer and determination. "Of course it was!" His accent coated over his words, sounding that of Northern Europe, or to be specific, of an _Ibaraki_ dialect. "The opponent's not gonna give you no warning 'fore they smack you down!"

"Okay, okay, tiger," Alfred shook his head with a small chortle under his breath as this 'Køhler' guy wrapped an arm around his shoulders, grinning lopsidedly. The European offered his hand out to the two brothers, shaking first Ludwig's, then Gilberts. "Matthias Køhler, wide receiver, junior."

The German brothers promptly introduced themselves to this newcomer. Gilbert, being the social butterfly he was, immediately began to strike up a conversation with the Dane, going from where he came from and just diving right into football, as if he were interested in the sport. Alfred let them talk and focused his attention on Ludwig, setting his helmet down and leaning both arms on the fence now, leaning heavily on them as his feet twitched in their spot, unable to keep still for very long. "Sooo? You didn't answer my question! Well, didn't have a chance to 'cause this jackass mowed me over," He kicked Matthias in the shin, who hardly seemed to notice at first, until a cleated foot jabbed him in the thigh, making him cringe. Turning his gaze from his teammate, switching from a glare to a inquiring stare as he looked back at Ludwig, setting his chin atop his folded forearms. "You gonna stay?"

"Vell, _mein Bruder_ already established zhat he vas going to stay. As for me, I…" Ludwig couldn't help but internally wince at the pouting face Alfred seemed to be giving him. What was that about not having to stay? He was practically pulling some damn puppy-dog eyes at him! He pursed his thin lips, sighing and deciding to cave into the other's wants a little. He couldn't exactly refuse, not after all that Alfred had been sure to do for them at the risk of his coach's wrath.

"I vill stay as vell…but I vill have to leave sometime." He finished, and Alfred nodded his head quickly in understanding. "Sounds like you should leave 'round halftime. That's cool, no worries! Besides, it's better than facing the endgame traffic. The parking lot turns to a second layer of Hell." Ludwig looked concerned at this remark and opened his mouth to comment on it, before a whistle was blown and both football players turned in attention almost immediately, trained to do so. The masked man from before was walking towards the center of the football field, hands raised up, a cap on his head and a whistle in his mouth. He blew again, and Matthias gave a quick farewell before sprinting off to go and gather with the rest of the team.

"Sorry, gotta go. Other team's due to get here soon. Wish us luck!" He gave a salute and grabbed his helmet from the ground, running off to join his teammates. Gilbert cupped his hands around his mouth, "You don't need zhe luck! Slaughter zhem!"

Ludwig shot Gilbert a questioning glance, and he shrugged, lowering his hands. "Vhat? Encouragement is key, no? Besides, it's time ve get into zhe team spirit, I suppose."

"But 'slaughter zhem'? Doesn't zhat seem a bit harsh for a game?"

Gilbert shot his younger brother a cocky grin. "Ve'll see, Vest," 'West' being a nickname Ludwig received due to him being born in West Germany—Gilbert was born in the Eastern half before they moved to the Western side when little Lud was still in their mother's womb. "Ve'll see."

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.

The game was nothing short of batshit crazy and exciting, as well as very confusing.

Over the deafening roar of the crowd—as well as his brother beside him, who now seemed entranced in crowd fever—Ludwig could hardly tell what was going on, but he could see where Gilbert's term 'slaughter' could come into play. The plays were quite full of harsh full-body contact, and he had the unfortunate sight of seeing Alfred get run over one too many times, only for the lad to spring back up once the play was over as if he weren't run down by a two-hundred and fifty pound meatsack going at the velocity of a speeding truck in only a few seconds. That guy was something else.

First quarter had ended long ago, and Ludwig's eyes moved to the bright scoreboard, and more often than once did he have to remind Gilbert who he was cheering for, and who the 'home' team was versus the 'away' team. So far they were losing by a 'touchdown' and a 'field goal', which were the technical terms for it as explained to him by another student in the packed stands upon asking. So, in other words, they were down by seven points, 12 to 19. The clock remained fixated at nine seconds as the teams below on the field arranged themselves for another play, another possible chance to get back in the game, if they were lucky and quick enough.

Upon asking more questions around, he learned the positions in the formations and began to quickly learn their basic functions. Seeing the white number '50', outlined in thick, dark black on a jersey towards the center of the formation, he could figure that Alfred was the quarterback, or the most important offensive position. Matthias, labeled by the number '98', was off to the side, in the position he learned to be the wide receiver, as he had labeled himself earlier upon introduction.

.

**[AUTHOR'S NOTE: The numbers that I am giving the players are consistent with the number of provinces/counties/states/municipalities that that 'nation' has. Alfred/America has fifty states, Matthias/Denmark has ninety-eight municipalities, Ivan/Russia has eighty-five federal sub-divisions, Berwald/Sweden has twenty-one counties, so on, and so forth.**

**I wrote this note because some of you may know football and know that these numbers are ludicrous in comparison to their positions on the field, i.e., quarterbacks are usually given a number 1-19 and Alfred has 50 instead, football numbers usually rage 1-89, et cetera. **

**I dunno, football's weird. No wonder why foreigners don't get it. Lots of Americans don't get it, either. Bleh. Anyway, onward!]**

**.**

The play resumed and the clock started ticking down. Eight. Alfred decided to run the ball, seeing an opening in the line of defense. Matthias and another player run after him, for receivers were usually gifted with catching. Seven. Six. Alfred narrowly dodges a tackle due to another bulkier player—number '85', titled 'Braginsky'—getting in the opponent's way and shoving him to the ground instead. Five. Four. Still running. Three. Alfred throws a Hail Mary in order to get it to Matthias, who was on the other side of the field, and falls shortly after it leaves his hand as he's tackled to the dirt. Two. Matthias catches it makes a full-on sprint for it, with a number '21', titled 'Oxenstierna', remained close behind to cover him from enemy attack.

One.

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.

The 'home' team's stands rattle loudly as the crowd all stand up and release a mighty roar of victory, the excitement rippling through the atmosphere on the one side of the field. On the other side, the opposing team's audience give an outcry of disappointment, of rage. The scoreboard changed, the numbers 18 to 19 appearing in the flashing lights. They were catching up, and Ludwig couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and of interest. Maybe the game wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. It was full of strategy and sacrifice, of timing and perfection. One slip up and the whole game is down. It was like war, and in that odd aspect, it intrigued him.

A surge of small disappointment marked the crowd as the field goal was missed upon attempt, but the people were still buzzing at the thought of a close game. The speakers blared a loud _zzzzt! _as the second quarter ended, halftime commencing. Remembering what Alfred had said earlier, and remembering all of the work in store for him to do when he arrived home, Ludwig stood up. He would've loved to stay and see how the rest of the game turned out, mostly, but his priorities were elsewhere. Looking back at the field he saw the player who had saved Alfred from an attempted tackle when running the ball help the quarterback to his feet, clapping a hand on each other's shoulders in recognition. The thought of being a part of a well-oiled machine that was a team was a refreshing one.

"Gilbert," Ludwig had to raise his voice over the crowd, and had to tap his brother's shoulder to get his attention when his first attempt had fluked. The albino turned his head sharply, and another grin spread along his lips. "Vhat is it? Did jou see zhat play? _Unglaublich!" _He laughed. "Und it's only zhe first half! Don't tell me jou're going already!"

Ludwig pulled on the coat that had been resting in his lap, straightening himself out. "Vell, as fascinating zhis particular game seems to be, I should go nonezheless. Do jou have money to take care of jourself?"

"_Ja_, of course I do. Jou need it everyvhere you go." Gilbert replied matter-of-factly, frowning slightly. "Are you taking zhe car?"

Ludwig nodded. "_Ja._ Just find some ozher vay home, shouldn't be hard. Call me if jou need anyzhink." He responded before inching past a few more audience members with a few mutterings of "_Verzeihung_." and "Sorry." as he tried his best not to trample anyone's feet. He found himself apologizing quite a bit as he made it past the rest of the crowd to leave, and even more people in the parking lot as he tried to look for their shared _Volkswagen GTi_. It was heavily packed, but luckily the two-doored compact car was just small enough to squeeze by until he got on the road.

Driving back home wasn't all that nice, either. Americans could drive so erratically, no matter the age. Land of the free, he thought. Was he free to get out of his car and smash the driver's face into the windshield while scolding and lecturing them for not driving correctly? It seemed just enough, but luckily he reached home before this fate came upon any unlucky motorists.

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Meanwhile, the crowd had begun to get a bit fidgety not long after Ludwig's leaving. During the halftime show, complete with the marching band and cheerleaders, which Gilbert had _absolutely no problem watching_, gossip had started to rise, the speculation being that the home team's quarterback was injured. The severity of the injury wasn't disclosed, and the audience was a little more than anxious to know if he was still liable to put into play, or if someone would substitute for him. While he hadn't known the guy long at all, Gilbert couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the thought of the bubbly American being injured. He had said that he'd broken something before, possibly on multiple occasions, which didn't ease his suspicions. _'It was probably when that huge guy tackled him down, the bastard,'_ He thought feverishly, leg twitching every now and then with impatience.

Time ticked on, and the tension had begun to rise. The halftime show was long over, and they still hadn't begun playing again for the third quarter. The clock on the scoreboard remained frozen with 15:00 stuck in place. It was taking a long while for this to get started.

After a bit more of waiting, a figure was being escorted to the center of the field by two others, the teams gathering again to begin play. The crowd cheered and Alfred raised his arm—well, his good arm, in a wave, signaling that he was going to continue play. The masked coach was back and at his side, and seemed to be stern as he kept talking to the injured player. Alfred seemed to wave it off as he slipped his helmet back on. That Braginsky player was back, next to Al, almost in a foreboding, protective stance. The coach wavered a bit as Alfred said something, then just shook his head, saying a few more words before he dashed off the field to let the game resume. The teams took their lineups, and this time the home team was on defense.

Gilbert leaned his elbows on his knees and leaned in closely to watch, red-violet eyes tinged with fascination. Maybe if he watched close enough he could figure out what was wrong. But as far as he could tell, Alfred, if injured, probably shouldn't be out in the field during a defensive play. That was where a lot of contact came in. It was just common sense. Then again, if he was just as headstrong as the Prussian—well, really, he was just a German from the East Side, but he claimed to have Prussian blood in his veins, and no one really tried to argue in the sake of avoiding the headache—he could understand the determination, the wanting to prove others wrong and shine through.

Hopefully it wouldn't backfire on him.

The defensive play began, with Alfred more towards the back with three others. What were they called again? Backers? He couldn't remember, but in the position he could see the injured player, he guessed he would be somewhat safe from collision, at least, safer than the four linemen and the three linebackers who were more near the coming conflict. However, when an offensive player broke through the defenses with the ball in his hand, he noted that he was headed for Alfred. Gilbert grit his teeth as he recognized the number on the back as the same number of the player who tackled and injured the quarterback in the first place! "Get him!" Gilbert shouted among the cheering crowd, jumping to his feet, "Shove him to zhe ground, _verdammt_! Give him a taste of zhe dirt!" After the crowd caught on to what Gilbert was saying, some stood up with him and cheered on. The offensive player advanced on Alfred, who seemed to remain locked in place with a wide stance, ready to intercept, though the way his feet were turned told a different story, a story that foretold that he was going to run and push him to the ground, to "give him a taste of zhe dirt", as he had very, very faintly picked out along the audience. Just as the opposing player moved sharply in a different direction to run, Alfred sped after him from the side.

'_Well, he doesn't seem to have too much of a problem running,'_ Gilbert thought to himself as he watched tensely, though he did notice two things; one arm wasn't pumping as much as the other one while Alfred ran, it almost stayed still at his side, and Alfred was going at him with the angle opposite to the static arm. _'There's something wrong with his arm. His right arm.'_ He decided as Alfred made a collision with his target, managing to get him on the ground, though they both fell decidedly hard with no one topping the mess. The ball had stumbled from the opposing player's hands on contact, and just about the entire swathe of both teams came thundering down the field, intent on taking the ball for themselves.

.

.

"Motherf-fucker…agh.." Alfred groaned as he shoved the other male away, clutching at his shoulder area, grinding his teeth together as he felt something else grind quite _painfully_ under his skin, making tears spring to his eyes. He rolled over onto his back from where he had been laying on his side, biting back a cry. God _damn it_ that hurt. Why'd he go out and decide to play again? Oh, right, 'cause that's what a hero would do!

Well, look on the bright side; at least you stopped the guy from making a touchdown, right?

Looking over to where the ball had fallen he noticed a red and white glove on top of the ball. He groaned inwardly. Well, so much for that. His team didn't even get to take the ball.

.

.

The game ended after about forty-five minutes. Neither team had made progress, for each side was just as headstrong as to keep up the defenses. That being said, the home team lost by just one point, the score still set at 18 to 19. Despite the loss, the team didn't look that down about it, instead congratulating each other on the impressive stand. For two whole quarters they had managed to keep the ball away, and that in itself was just great. That was how they saw it, anyway. Besides, there was always the next game to worry about, and it was about time they started preparing for it already.

But for now, the night wasn't for practice, it was for relaxation. It was time to finally go home.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" A tall, bulky ashen blonde asked Alfred almost pesteringly as he shut his locker, deciding the equipment and the clothes were due for a wash, so he was taking everything home with him in a duffel bag. The golden-haired male rolled his eyes slightly and stood, jolting slightly as hands were set upon his shoulders by the same guy. "Easy, easy," He muttered as he shrugged the hands off, grimacing as the movement brought him a jarring pain through his shoulder and neck.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me." He reassured the other blankly as he heaved the bag's strap on his good shoulder with a sigh and a yawn. "Good play out there. Thanks for saving me in the second quarter. Would've lost by a lot more if you hadn't."

The ashen blonde above him grinned childishly behind a light tan scarf wrapped around his neck. He had already changed long before Alfred had, as the American had some difficulty getting everything off with his injury. "Of course. I wouldn't let anyone hurt you that way if I could help it. It's what teammates do, da?" He giggled, a sound that sounded strange coming from such a big guy. It never failed to send shivers racking down the other's spine. Suddenly Alfred became slightly uncomfortable under the violet stare for personal reasons, and almost screamed as a hand came upon his shoulder from behind. Though, when he looked, he saw a familiar pale face with silvery hair brushing into reddish-violet eyes.

Oh, thank God, someone to distract himself with.

"Oh, hey…yooouu!" Alfred grinned and wrapped his good arm quickly around Gilbert's shoulders, his hand going into his hair and tousling it beyond repair. With a startled grumble and a curse, Alfred muttered low enough just for him to hear, "Play along."

"Oh? You know this новый студент? He was introduced in my English Language class." The taller of the three tilted his head as he looked at the two almost in bewilderment. Alfred nodded enthusiastically, keeping close to the Prussian, as if making some sort of point not seen to him, but clearly placed between the American and this new stranger with the Russian accent.

Cautiously, Gilbert held out his hand, eyeing the taller carefully. "Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"Ivan Braginsky." He chuckled as he took the outstretched hand and shook it, though his grip was cold and stiff. Gilbert went to tug his hand away, but found slight difficulty as Ivan seemed to stare him down, almost challengingly. Gilbert didn't know how to handle this, or why the fuck he was staring at him like that, what'd he ever do? He withdrew his hand sharply, only to have a pleased hum escape Ivan, as if he figured his point was across. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Uh, yeah, back at jou," Gilbert mumbled as he rubbed his hand, remembering just what he had come over here for. "Er, if jou vouldn't mind, Ivan, I have to speak vith zhis guy right here." He nudged Alfred in the stomach with his elbow, making him cringe slightly, though his smile didn't falter.

When no response came and a silence came over the three for a few moments, as if waiting, Gilbert coughed, "Alone."

"Of course, my apologies." Ivan nodded with another big smile and stepped past them to leave, but not without shooting a small, teensy little glare back at them after he had passed them completely. Gilbert could feel the icy stare burn holes into his back, and he shuddered violently. Alfred dropped his arm from around the albino with sheepish, awkward smile. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's fine, I guess," Gilbert shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "Vhat's his deal?"

"It's…complicated," Alfred couldn't find a better word to use, nervously chuckling. "So, um, what'dya wanna ask me? Thanks for watching us play, too. Say, where's your brother? Go off like he said he would?"

"_Ja._" Gilbert decided it was best not to dwell in the other's private, personal manners, despite his curiosity of just how 'complicated' things were with that Braginsky fellow. "He vent, sorry. Und it's no problem, really, I vas pretty happy to stay."

"Really? Huh, I'd thought you Europeans would get bored with football," Alfred's wavering smile turned into a genuine one as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder with a soft wince. "Soo?"

"Oh, yeah. I vas asking if jou had car or somezhink…_mein Bruder_ took ours home." Gilbert looked hesitant in the question. No need to push his luck. The guy had already shown them around the school, offered to let them stay for a game, and even pushed through the second half with an injury unbeknownst to him. "I-If jou vouldn't mind, zhat is. I have no problem valking home."

Alfred didn't even seem to hesitate, giving a light, "No problem!" as his reply. Gilbert looked slightly surprised. "Really? Are jou sure?"

"Yeah, man, don't sweat it! I'll let you drive there, though, no need to get lost in the city." Alfred laughed, and Gilbert just smiled, nodding. "Yeah, no shit. Need help vith zhat bag?"

"Erm, please? If it's not to much to ask." The two exchanged items, Alfred handing Gilbert both his bag and his car keys, since he was going to be the one driving for the first half of the ride home. "Sorry, don't mean to burden you."

"Please, zhis is light." Gilbert waved off the apology, letting Alfred step first so he could lead them out of there, out of the school, and out to their mode of transport.

On their way to the car, in the parking lot, Gilbert spoke up first.

"Are jou okay? How'd jou get hurt, anyvay?"

"By the tackle just at the end of the second half," Alfred wheezed as his injury started to flare up again, causing a veil of concern to drop over Gilbert's composure. "Coach and nurse said I got a busted clavicle…or, collarbone. It just hurts to move my arm and breathe a bit, nothing I couldn't handle."

"Couldn't handle? Jou should've been out for zhe count!" Gilbert argued. It was a pretty selfish and stupid move to go out there anyway with such a dangerous injury. "It vould've been okay if jou hadn't gone."

"Okay? Pshh, please. While I have my utmost faith in my team, I couldn't just sit by and watch." Alfred shook his head defiantly, nodding his head over at a red truck down the aisle. They increased their pace as they headed towards the truck.

"It could've gotten vorse, zhough. Jou're lucky it didn't." The albino mumbled as he pressed a button on the keypad. The headlights lit up and flashed twice as a honk came from the car, signaling that it had been unlocked. Gilbert climbed into the driver's seat of the pickup, with Alfred steadily clambering into the passenger's seat with little difficulty, as if he had dealt with a disadvantaged limb before. The football player leaned back in his seat with a groan.

"Yes, mom, I understand that I was wrong," He moaned dismissively in a sarcastic manner, waving his hand at Gilbert with a slight smirk on his features. "What're ya gonna do? Spank me for it? Just get driving 'fore I kick you outta my truck."

"Oh shut it, jou're in no condition to challenge zhe awesome me." Gilbert flashed him a cocky smile, to which Alfred stuck his tongue out at, making them both snicker in amusement. After pulling the truck into drive, Gilbert backed out of the parking space, almost running over a few pedestrians from the game, and got out of there as quickly as he could so he could avoid facing the horrid backup traffic in the small parking lot later.

"The awesome you? Oh dear me, shall I swoon?" Alfred lifted a hand to his forehead, as if pretending to pass out. "Your awesome prowess, it's too much for me, I think I'll faint!" And he was sent cackling, with the Beilschmidt brother rolling his eyes and swatting the other male, hitting his good arm as it was the one facing him. "Jou're annoying."

"You're not student of the year, either, pal." A sudden thought came to mind as they passed multiple stores and restaurants on the way. Alfred's face pressed to the glass window as they began to approach one of his all-time favorites. "Yo, dude, cut the chit-chat. I'm hungry, pull over."

"Hn?" Gilbert looked over at him, confused, blinking. "Vhat?"

"I said, I'm hungry. Or, _ich hab großen Hunge, _if you couldn't understand me before."

"Jou speak German?"

"I have German blood in me like a lot of Americans do. Now pull over—no! Nonono turn around **turnaround** dammit!"

They had passed the McDonalds Alfred had been so desperate to go to for a late night dinner. His stomach growled loudly, pitifully. "You fucker!" He slammed his hand on the window. "Why didn't you turn?!"

"Zhat food is high in bad shit, zhat's all I'll say. Most of it is processed. Jou're better off eating a plastic bag."

"Man, don't diss America's pride and joy! Take it back!"

"Vhy take somezhink back vhen I meant it? Calm down. Ve can just pull over for some Chinese if zhat'll make jou feel any better. I'm a bit hungry, too."

Alfred folded his one good arm across his chest in a weak attempt at a stubborn posture, his lower lip slightly pouted and his cheeks lightly puffed to show his indignancy.

"Hey. Don't pout at me. _Ja oder nein? _Ve're going to pass it too."

"…Fine. You're paying."

"Like hell I am. Shut up und gorge jourself on zhe cheap rice und fortune cookies."

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"_Nein."_

"Come oonnn, Vest~ Just take a itsy bitsy little bite."

"I said **no.**"

"Lud, please? We bought this for you."

"No! Und don't call me zhat."

"Wha? Lud?"

"_Ja, dummkopf._ Now back off, I'm trying to finish."

A pair of chopsticks snapped near Ludwig's ear teasingly, tugging at it. "But Veeesst! Eat your food!"

"I svear to _Gott_ if jou don't stop…"

"You're hurting my feelings, Ludwig."

"Und vhy is zhat?"

Another pair of chopsticks rose up to poke at the tall blonde German as he sat at his desk in his room. The pair of wooden utensils carried a mess of noodles with it. Ludwig grimaced in distaste as a bit of whatever sauce was dripping off it touched and remained cold on his cheek. "You're supposed to show some hospitality to your guests! 'Specially those who brought you Chinese takeout!"

"Und even more specially vhen zhey're injured!"

"Way to push it, Gilbert."

"_Entschuldigung._"

"VIll jou two seriously get out?"

"Just one bite?" Alfred's head poked around.

"_Bitte?" _Gilbert rested his head upon his younger sibling's broad shoulder.

Ludwig didn't even budge, continuing to write.

"…Do you at least want your fortune cookie?"

"Oh yeah! If not, Luddy, can I take it? Please? Show some gratitude to jour big brother."

"…"

Ludwig turned his head and took the noodles from their wooden pincers, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing. Alfred lowered his chopsticks. After a few long moments, the light blonde relented. "…Leave zhe noodles. Und zhe cookie. Then get out."

"Aww, good boy~" Gilbert teased his brother playfully as he shuffled aside some papers set upon Ludwig's desk and set them atop a couple of stacked books, setting down the styrofoam to-go box in the empty space, with a pair of wooden chopsticks stuck into the still steaming noodles. A fortune cookie, still in its wrapper, was placed beside the box. An arm quickly wrapped around Ludwig's neck and Gil nuzzled into the slicked back hair, messing it up, before pressing a playful kiss to his younger sibling's temple. "Jou're still cute even vhen jou're not a kid~"

"**Get out!"**

The two were promptly chased out and the door was shut loudly behind them.

After a bit of talking in the living room and slurping down noodles and munching on rice, Alfred decided it was time to go.

"Shit! I forgot Mattie's at home. He's gonna be pissed."

"Mattie?"

"Oh, uh, my twin brother. Never met him? Got the same face as I do, different hair, different eyes? Says sorry a lot? And 'eh'? Canadian kinda just leaks off of him?"

"_Nein,_ sorry."

"That's too bad! I'll have to introduce you sometime." Alfred stood up to go and throw his trash away, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm. "I'll take zhat off jour hands." Gilbert offered with a hand outstretched. The bag of waste was handed to him promptly. "Thanks for the place to eat."

"Zhanks for zhe ride. Jou gonna be alright going home?"

"Dude, it's just a broken collarbone, I'm not in a full-body cast."

"True, true." Gilbert shrugged as he turned to stuff the leftover trash left on the coffee table into the plastic bag, Alfred taking another bag with a to-go box inside for his brother that was left on the table next to the door. As he opened the door and began to leave, Alfred turned his head, nodding at the other. "Gilbert, right?"

"_Ja._ Alfred?"

"Gotcha. See ya 'round." He turned his head to look up the stairs. "Yo, Ludwig! Goodnight!"

A brash "Gute Nacht!" was shouted back in reply, coming from Ludwig's domain.

"Alrighty then, see you guys tomorrow. Try not to get lost in school?"

"Fuck jou, und get on out of here." Gilbert waved his hands at Alfred in a shooing motion, as he would to some kind of pest. Alfred scoffed and gave him the one-finger salute with a short chuckle before leaving the Beilschmidt residence, meeting the cool night air as he closed the door behind him and started for the truck parked precariously in front of the house. Pretty good day, he couldn't complain. A day without the broken clavicle could've been nice, but every day has its ups and downs, right?

* * *

**Six thousand words! **_**Yeesss.**_

**Also, Chapter two! Aww yeah! I really don't know how long this could go on.**

**Translations:**

_"Zwanzig minuten."_ \- "Twenty minutes."

_"Mein Bruder."_ \- "My brother."

_"Unglaublich!"_ \- "Incredible!"

_"Ja."_ \- "Yes."

_"Verzihung."_ \- "Pardon."

_"Verdammt!"_ \- "Dammit/Damn!"

"новый студент?" - "New student?"

_"Ich hab großen Hunge."_ \- "I am very hungry."

_"Ja oder nein?"_ \- "Yes or no?"

_"Nein."_ \- "No."

_"Ja, dummkopf."_ \- "Yes, idiot/fool/imbecile."

_"Gott..."_ \- "God..."

_"Entschludigung."_ \- "Sorry; literally "apology"."

_"Bitte?"_ \- "Please?"

_"Gute Nacht."_ \- "Goodnight."

.

.

**So yeah. Possible RusAme "Cold War" tensions going on and Alfred seems to get along with everyone quite nicely. Oh, and Chinese takeout. Always a plus.**

**In the next chapter it'll be a few weeks from then.**

**See ya guys around! Reviews are always appreciated! Toodles~**


	3. Awesome Shenanigans

**OOPS IT'S BEEN A WHILE. I'm so sorry. :c School started back up and it's not so merciful as it could be. Huge tests coming up, End of Course, yada yada yada, nag nag nag, whatever. Not an excuse! So this is a shitty attempt at a chapter three because why not? And because I don't like leaving people to think I abandoned it. I've done it before(and as much as I hate that fic with my burning heart and soul) it still haunts me to this day. /shivers**

**Note: A large part of this was typed up at the early hours of four in the morning this exact morning. I only got around two hours of sleep? Plus I typed some of it in several memos on my phone during class so that was fun putting into a Word document on my laptop. So you could imagine a lot of this being half-thought out due to exhaustion.**

**Another Note: Running out of ideas. Severely. Any help with that would be g****_randly_**** appreciated? Or any help with editing? Always up for constructive criticism. Don't hesitate. I can take it. /puffs out chest**

**Excuse the shittiness! I really don't know where most of this came from.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was given the idea by a nice little reviewer(you know who you are uvu) to slowly edge off the German accent the brothers have as time progressed, since it would make more sense, and eventually you'll be able to read what they're saying without having to squint your eyes and pause. xD So here, Gilbert will be seen pronouncing the 'wuh' sound in 'w' more often in contrast to the German 'vuh', like in 'what/vhat' and 'with/vith'. So, less 'v', more 'w'. I wanna start it off real slow, almost unnoticeable. It's the same situation for some words containing the 'th' sound, like in 'the/zhe' or 'that/zhat', but it'll be in more conspicuous words like 'mother' or 'threw', where it doesn't fit in as well. Sorry if that's confusing? I'm half asleep here.**

**Here we go!**

* * *

Blue eyes snapped open to a bright light burning in his face, practically frying his senses of sight as he winced and squinted in his blindness. His hand feebly fumbled around on the nightstand next to his head to search for the aiding lenses, eyes beginning to burn from the back to the front. Oh God, did that sunlight burn. But what else could he expect from staying up all night gaming with his idiot friends? He recalled possibly going to sleep around five in the morning...

What time was it now?

After finally grabbing his glasses after knocking them unceremoniously from the stand to the floor and having to slouch out of bed to retrieve them—in which case he nearly fell right on his face—the teen slowly sat up, rubbing at his eyes with a discomforted whine just before he slid the glasses on. What was today?

Saturday, he remembered, as he looked over to the alarm clock, the bright red digital numbers reading 9:37AM. Only four and a half hours of sleep? Uh, _nuh-uh_, he concluded to himself as he laid back down to sleep, burying his head in the pillow and ripping the covers up over him to escape the harsh sunlight that threatened to set his very soul on fire.

This temporary solace didn't last long, as he heard a crash downstairs. His eyes flew open as he rolled over and out of bed, startled out of his drowsy mind. Alfred groaned on the wooden floor, content with just settling there for the rest of the day until perhaps four in the afternoon to just snooze his day away.

But he had heard a crash, most likely coming from the kitchen, and this thought deterred him in the slightest. _'Probably just Mattie or somethin'…maybe the cat…'_ He thought with a snort, ready to dismiss the topic altogether just to sleep. He squirmed around on the floor, trying to find a comfortable way to rest on the hard, flat floor.

But then, he realized, Matthew was nowhere near as clumsy as he was known to be; he rarely ever dropped things or bumped into stuff, as where with Alfred it was more of a religious hourly occurrence. How the hell they were twins who once shared a 'body' eluded him.

So, with that thought on his mind, he guessed it prooobably wasn't Mattie.

…Burglars?

One way to find out.

Alfred sat up slowly and got to his feet quietly, shuffling over to his closet and digging in the back before he pulled out an old and worn slugger's wooden baseball bat, heavy and hard. Clapping it in his palm a few times, the opposite hand gripping the wrapped handle fiercely, he looked to his closed bedroom door, face set with determination, yet caution. He could swear he could hear more movement downstairs.

Time to be the hero!

He crept out of his room, going down the stairs slowly and as stealthily as humanly possible—or rather, as possible as a clumsy guy like him would ever get. He ignored the squeaking of the old staircase as his bare feet passed upon the steps, one after the other, trying desperately to keep on his toes and maintain his balance. No need to fall down the stairs and startle the intruder into running away or shooting him.

So fair, he hadn't been heard. Good deal.

The American swept through the living room with ease and came up to the corridor dividing the dining area and the kitchen, his warm back firmly pressed against the cold wall. Concentrating, he could hear the rumbling of hands moving through his refrigerator, shoving things to the back or the side and pulling others to the front.

First of all, what kinda burglar decides to get the munchies during a heist, not only stripping his victim of their material possessions, but of _his_ fuckin' good ass food too, that _he_ paid for? The thought made him seethe. That was _his _food.

Listening to the closing of drawers and opening of other compartments and containers, Alfred clenched his jaw.

This was _far enough._

"Freeze!" He leapt out from behind the wall, shouting and letting out a whooping war cry, his bat raised up and behind his head, ready to swing and take this bastard's head off. Eating his food! Who the fuck did he think he was?!

The assailant turned and screamed, his pitch only slightly higher than that of Alfred's own cry, but more pronounced and accented as they kept yelling in one continuous, long note, one angry and the other sounding frightened out of his fucking mind.

The sound sounded vaguely of German origin.

"You mother_fucker!"_ Alfred swung his baseball bat and the other male ducked low just before it caught him the air and blew his brains out of his skull through the other side, a sausage between his teeth, which had been leftovers from a night or so ago. In one hand was a block of extra sharp cheddar cheese, ripped open and out of its new packaging, and in the other held a half-empty(or half-full, if you're that kinda guy) milk jug. The food-loaded teen on the opposing side jumped back up as quickly as he had went down and swung his leg high in the air, pivoting on his planted foot rather expertly as he went to parry another swing of the heavy wooden equipment-turned-weapon. He grunted through the sausage as it stung his shin, reddish-violet eyes wide. What was w_ith _this guy?

The rageful knowing look in Alfred's eyes didn't make the albino feel any better about the situation.

"First of all!" Alfred began, lowering his bat and swinging at the other's feet. Gilbert leapt over it. "We're not even-" Alfred stood back, grabbing the paper towel and the rack it was on, chucking it at him. Gilbert deflected the projectile with his milk jug. "-at that level of friendship-" Alfred swung at him again, going for his stomach. Gilbert instinctively jumped back, though the bat still hit his side, making him nearly spit out his meat link. "-where you can just-" The Prussian tried to bolt past him, but Alfred stood in the doorway, a hand planted firmly on the other's chest. "-barge in here and take my food!"

The two had been friends for a while now. The German brothers had been around for about a month and a half, about five weeks now, and they had quickly found their own groups and people to hang out with. Alfred managed to stick to them like glue, since after all, he was kind of one of their first impressions, and they didn't seem to mind it. Even the stingy Ludwig, all about business and seriousness most of the time, didn't mind his loud company. The words said were never meant to be harmful, and Alfred knew that. Gilbert was kind of just the type of guy that easily made friends and enemies all the same, just like the American teenager, so bonding or whatever it was sparking the two together had come quick.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes defiantly, tossing his head back, the sausage slipping into his mouth. After a few thoughtful, hard, and uneasy to watch open-mouthed chews, he swallowed, licking his lips quickly. Alfred scoffed, then made a strangled noise of disapproval as an arm was slung around his shoulders, the cold milk jug touching his bare skin, as he had slept only in a pair of rather patriotic-themed boxers. He flinched at the displeasing frigid and wet contact to his sun-kissed skin.

"Woah, zhat vas harsh. After all I do for jou? Ungrateful!" Gilbert laughed, taking a bite out of the block of sharp cheddar in his hand, smiling as the tangy taste of the cheese clashed with the meaty spice of the sausage. "Chill out, Jones. Zhe bat vas overkill, by zhe way. If I didn't know any better, I vould say jou vere really trying to kill me!"

"Overkill? You coulda been an armed robber!" Alfred protested in his defense, snorting. Why was _he_ explaining himself? It should've been the other way around! He slipped out of his Prussian friend's hold, whirling around to face him, bat still in hand. "You coulda texted me first!"

"Ah, ah, I did." Gilbert shook his head and shrugged, setting the milk on the counter and digging around in his jean pocket before he produced an iPhone, black and white themed with the Prussian Flag decorating the phone case. The German constantly claimed he had the glorious Prussian blood in him, and that his ancestor was of Teutonic origin. Of course, most called bullshit.

After a few taps on the touch screen, he showed it to Alfred as he took another chomping bite out of the cheese. Alfred squinted his eyes to read the text.

.

_Sent at 8:21AM._

**Good morning! Still feelin the burn when I kicked your ass last night at advanced warfare? i'm sure you are**

**Man you went down so hard! even to my brother cause he's just awesome like that. Pfft**

**Oops that didn't sound right lmao no homo right**

_Sent at 8:58AM._

**Hey are you even awake yet**

_Sent at 9:09AM._

**All-American idiot hey it's time to wake up**

**Dipshit says what get up**

**wAKE UP JFC**

_Sent at 9:15AM._

**Hey loser i'm gonna come over and raid your fridge is that ok**

_Sent at 9:21AM._

**Hello?**

**You always sleep in omg lazy ass ugh**

**When i get over there you're in for a rude awakening**

_Sent at 9:32AM._

**I'm outside and i'm coming in**

**.**

**.**

Alfred gave an unamused grunt, rubbing a hand back through his hair as he let out a break, blowing a slightly frustrated raspberry. Oh, so he had. Figures. With a roll of his eyes, he glanced around the kitchen. Cabinets had been left open and drawers left unclosed, the refrigerator door still ajar and chilling the air around it, making shiver go up Al's spine.

"What was that crash? What'd you break _this time?_" He spoke as if Gilbert had pulled a stunt like this before. He hadn't, but he had broken a lamp one time. And knocked over a vase. And broke a coffee mug. And nearly set Matthew's laptop ablaze when they were using it for some online gaming when the Canadian wasn't home. He was probably just as accident prone as Alfred was, which was a rather dangerous combination now that he thought about it. Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, and Gilbert wrinkled his own nose at the gesture.

"Jou look like my brother vhen he gets annoyed vith me. Don't tell me jou're tired of me already." He huffed, almost as if he were offended, breaking off the top part of what remained of the cheese with his fingers, as to not leave his leftover toothmarks, germs, and saliva on the still fairly new block. He offered it out to Alfred tentatively, almost as if it were a peace offering of war, who then took it with an incoherent mumble.

"I broke a glass. Sorry. I zhought I'd be courteous und use a glass zhis time rather zhan drink straight from zhe jug." The intruding male answered with an exasperated sigh, one that the American dutifully returned at the news. More things to clean up. This early in the morning? Why couldn't the world just go away? Though, he did silently appreciate that Gilbert had actually thought before drinking from the milk container, as he already had before. That'd kind of be kind of gross…that, and he didn't need more scolding from his elder twin. But he knew he was still gonna get it when he got home.

"I only have so many glasses. Mattie's gonna notice, and you're gonna explain to him, not me." Alfred jabbed a finger into Gilbert's chest, shaking his head in disdain and glancing around before advancing further into the kitchen. Gilbert just waved him off.

"Oh, please, he's at work, isn't he? Vhat he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"You underestimate my brother and his uncanny ability to sense and find out if something's amiss. It's almost supernatural. Sirens are probably going off in his head right now." He twirled a finger next to his temple, looking around with still bleary eyes as he searched for this broken glass, assuming the German exchange student hadn't had the time nor the audacity to clean it up himself.

Spotting the mess as he went further towards the end of the space, he went towards it, spotting the broom closet conveniently near the wreckage. He dismissed anything else Gilbert had been saying as he advanced…until he felt a sharp pain stab through his foot, feeling something jagged rip into the soft, somewhat calloused tissue of his foot. Immediately feeling tears spring to his eyes, Alfred yelped and fell back on his bottom, another (still manly!) yip escaping his lips as he landed on the hard tile floor with a _thump_. He folded his legs towards him, cringing as he spotted a glass shard sticking out of the softer, slightly tenderer flesh of the middle of his footpad, between the ball of his foot and his heel. Blood was steadily trickling down from the gash, dripping onto the tile floor quickly.

Gilbert was loyally at his friend's side, though he had to laugh at him first, as some good friends did when their companions fell out of their own accord. The cackling at his abrupt and seemingly clumsy fall was quickly cut short, however, as he spotted the protruding glass sticking out of Alfred's foot, making him flinch and shudder. Gross. Gross, gross, gross.

"Holy shit. Don't move, don't move, Jesus Christ," Gilbert muttered as he dropped to one knee carefully, hand reaching out for Alfred's foot. His hand was quickly slapped away.

"The fuck you think you're doin'?!" Alfred shouted shrilly, eyes wide. "Don't fuckin' touch me, you idiot!"

"Chill, chill! I'm trying to help!"

"By ripping out the glass?!"

"Exactly!"

"I'll fucking kick you to high heaven where the sun doesn't shine, Gilbert, I swear to God…!"

"Stop being so pissy! Jou vant help or not?"

Alfred turned his head stubbornly, his lower lip slightly sticking out in a pout, brows knitted together in frustration. He didn't reply for a few long moments, until he finally figured he should cave in. He was injured and couldn't exactly walk on his own, after all.

"…Fine. Clean up the glass first. And don't cut yourself!"

A slip and a especially rough German-accented shout of pain simply meant that they were going to have an interesting time getting upstairs to the bathroom.

.

.

"We got blood all over the carpet. Matthew's gonna think we killed someone this time—_ow!_ Watch where you put that thing!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby."

"It's fucking oozing white shit. Am I going to die?"

"It's just zhe bacteria dying. Are jou going to die? Perhaps."

"Fuck you."

"Jou asked."

Alfred folded his arms across his chest(albeit a bit uneasily due to his still healing clavicle, though it was healing exponentially fast) glaring sideways and out the open bathroom door into the hallway as Gilbert, still kind of bleeding and hurt from also getting glass shards jabbed into him, cleaned the gash on his foot. He squirmed in his seat as a peroxide-soaked cotton ball was dabbed at the open wound again, hissing under his breath.

"God, that hurts like a bitch. Stop dripping it in there, you sadistic—"

"Jou broke jour collarbone like five weeks ago und played through zhe entire second half of zhe game vith it! Don't tell me a little rubbing alcohol's hurting jou!"

Alfred didn't respond to that, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he felt something foreign and cold touch against the cut, the substance feeling a bit slimy and thick. A Band-Aid was promptly pressed onto the site, and they proceeded to awkwardly switch seats from the toilet to the floor and vice versa so Gilbert could be treated.

He wasn't any better at handling the disinfectant, a hand clutched tightly on Alfred's good shoulder as he swabbed the two areas(one in the heel, the other in his calf since he fell in an awkward position) once he extracted the glass from both places.

It was slightly uncomfortable having Gilbert's cold hand against the American's heated skin, squeezing like a blood pressure monitor cuff on the tightest setting, but he didn't say anything.

The Prussian hardly said much either, wanting to hold back his insults simply because he 'wanted to prove his awesome strength' and to basically show Alfred up. The latter didn't care that much; Gilbert was the one who started the shit in the first place, let him have his time in the sun. He'd be limping worse than Alfred anyway.

The tedious time spent in the bathroom was more than awkward at some points, and that extended past the fact that Alfred was nearly bare naked save for a pair of boxer briefs and Gilbert also had to shed off his pants so his calf wound could be accessed better. You'd think two good friends wouldn't have too much of a hard time putting their hands on each other in an almost intimate fashion, or at least just really too close for comfort, right?

Well, the fact still remained that they had only known each other for about five weeks, so this was still a bit weird in both their books.

.

.

About thirty minutes later the two were lounging around in Alfred's room, not really doing much except laying around and making guttural animal noises and grunts as a form of lazy communication few would understand. Alfred was flopped back in his desk chair, precariously leaning back in the seat almost to the point where it would fall backwards, and Gilbert had made a nice mess of what was already pretty untidy to begin with on Alfred's bed, the albino just letting half of his body dangle off the side, his face buried in the pillow. The fact that Alfred slept in this bed or just laid around in it, half the time nearly naked and sometimes after football practice, unshowered, didn't seem to deter him as much as it probably should have.

Gilbert dramatically groaned into the cotton pillow, and Alfred rolled his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Hey, you. _Amerikaner_."

Alfred blew a raspberry as a sign of acknowledgement.

"Entertain me."

"Go entertain yourself."

"I did. And zhat didn't end up very well."

Alfred paused to consider this. That was true. Gilbert, in an attempt to irritate Jones and to relieve himself of the perpetual boredom that was swallowing up his Saturday morning, had basically trespassed, snuck into the house(something he still wouldn't explain as to how he did so), and ransacked his kitchen. He didn't think he could fully trust the other male to aimlessly wander around his house unsupervised to find something to do.

He was slightly appreciative that Gilbert recognized it, no matter how sarcastic the comment had come out.

"Okay, scratch that. What do you propose we do?"

"We can go somevhere?"

"Do you really want to limp around like you shit your pants in public?"

"Ehh. It'll get less painful zhe more ve walk."

"Are you sure? That seems counterproductive."

"Vhat do you zhink ve could do?"

Alfred bit his lip in thought, watching the ceiling fan turn, the blades going slowly in their set circular motion, fanning a light breeze in his face as it moved the air in the room. What was there to do? They had already spent all night gaming on various multiplayer online platforms, something that could be saved for tonight as well. He would love to catch up on some more sleep, but he had a feeling the other just wasn't going to go away if he simply asked him to. That, and he was taking up his bed.

There wasn't much else to do. Alfred sighed and shrugged, slowly coming to a stand, hand gripping the edge of his desk to keep him steady as he shifted his weight mostly on his good foot, his injured one standing on the ball and toes, completely avoiding letting the rest touch the floor. While he could take being hit with the force of a car in their high school football games, or being smacked to the ground in basketball every now and then, or being wrestled to the floor by his brother and vice versa, or getting kicked in the head in kickboxing, he was pretty much a wimp when it came to small, stinging pains. It was slightly embarrassing.

"Alright, we're going out." He decided, putting his hands on his hips and turning his head over his shoulder to gaze at the albino hanging off his bed as he stood in the doorway. "You ready? Showered?"

"No. I kinda just threw stuff on to burglarize jour house." Gilbert sighed, digging in Alfred's nightstand drawer. He extracted a pair of glasses and set them on his face, squinting. God, was Alfred _blind._ "Can I just borrow some of jour clothes?"

"After you shower, yes. And don't break my spares. And get out when I tell you to."

"Alright, mother."

.

.

After about another hour, the two set out into journeys unknown, walking around with no real idea as to where they were going, or what they were planning to do. After a while yes, they were kind of awkwardly limping around and cursing Matthew's name for having the audacity to take the only mode of transport they had, and they were _not_ taking the bus. Alfred could swear he caught both strep throat and the flu from just holding onto one of those poles for long enough. That, and they were usually pretty uncomfortable around here. The highly populated area meant that there were dozens crammed onto one at one time, and they just didn't want to have to be packed in like sardines next to people they didn't know, or whose state of health was undetermined. Walking would have to do.

"We could watch a movie?"

"Eh, I don't zhink zhere's anyzhink good out right now."

"We could go to the park?"

"Ludvig valks zhe dogs around zhis time. I'd rather not run into him vhen I haven't told him vhere I am."

"You didn't tell him?"

"No, zho he's probably majorly pissed at me. He vorries too much."

Alfred cringed at the thought of an angered Ludwig shouting at the both of them—he was pretty comfortable doing that now around the American, since it happened every so often now—and shoved his hands into the pockets of his red hoodie, shrugging.

It was the end of fall, days away from the winter solstice, and the air was steadily getting colder and thinner as the time ticked down to the season of snow and wind. December was a nice month—Winter Break was also around the corner. Two weeks of no school and fucking around with friends. Christmas was also drawing near, something celebrated nearly worldwide, and it was fun celebrating it with a bunch of kids from school due to the diversity of their group. Almost every single one of Alfred's friends, who were quickly turning into Gilbert's as well, were from different countries, which meant different cultures, different traditions, and a whole bunch of fun.

November was also a pretty cool month. Explaining Thanksgiving to the German brothers almost seemed normal and practiced; Alfred had done so many times before for those of his friends who hadn't lived in America for some time. The food was also a complete array of masterpieces all around, a feast he wouldn't soon forget. He only regretted that the two had come after Halloween. That would've been real fun.

Now, the trees were losing the last of their leaves, a warm color arrangement of reds, oranges, golds and browns littering the streets of the city, crunching under their feet and blowing around in the cool winds. The skies were a dull blue with many white and grey clouds dotting the cerulean canvas above their heads, the sun blocked by the thin cloud coverage and starting to leave the middle of the sky in its conquest to the west.

It was some time after noon now, though not yet one in the afternoon. Commuters bustled around on the somewhat busy sidewalks, the city teeming with life, from people who had just woken up not too long ago and going to the nearest coffee shop to get their daily shot of espresso, to people who had been up all night drinking and were just now leaving the pubs and clubs, hissing at the sunlight and fresh air like vampires and cursing blue streaks all the way across the downtown area, to the busy workers, coming to and from their jobs, who still had the unfortunate circumstance of working on a Saturday.

A few more quiet minutes into their walking, they were nearly turned into road-kill as a group of about five rollerbladers skated right towards them, not showing any signs of stopping or slowing down, or even taking the courtesy of swerving out of harm's way. No, they expected for these two innocently walking teens to just jump out of the way.

"Oh—shit!" Gilbert shoved Alfred out of the way before narrowly missing a rough impact himself, the group of five not even taking the time to stop and apologize, or even turn to look at them. The albino male clenched his fists at his sides and started shouting peeved German in their direction, not caring who heard or saw. It didn't take a native speaker to know that he was insulting them like no tomorrow.

_"__Na, du Wichser!_ _Spinnst du oder was? Was soll der Scheiss? Sie Hurensöhne, komm zurück! Ich schiebe Ihre Rollschuh in den Arsch, du Stück Scheiße! Mein Gott, haben Sie keine verdammte gesunden Menschenverstand? Idioten! Sie fast getötet ficken uns! Frechen Kerle!"_

A man walking his daughter gave Gilbert a scandalous glance and covered his little girl's ears, as if he understood or just knew that what was coming out of this guys mouth wasn't kid-friendly, then urged them to walk faster. A lot of others were giving the Prussian weird glances, but they chose not to say anything, for perhaps they didn't want angry German shoved down their throats as well.

_"__Was für Arschlöcher!" _He muttered under his breath as he turned away, rubbing his arms. _"Mein Gott, das pisst mich an…!" _He shook himself, trying to calm himself down as he cast his gaze off to the side. Alfred was having a bit of a hard time getting to his feet, having hit his hipbone on the curb. His lower half was still splayed on the sidewalk, the upper half in the street. He was too close to the sidewalk to get hit by a car, thankfully, but he was still in a precarious situation. "Come here," Gilbert sighed in exasperation, kneeling over and offering out his hands. Alfred gratefully accepted with one hand—his good hand; the impact had jarred his healing collarbone, making it painful to move at the moment—and struggled with the other to get to his feet in one tug. They were almost there, but one slip of the American's foot against the curb sent them both into a heap just where Alfred had been laying moments ago, with Gilbert landing directly on top, the air getting knocked out of the both of them.

After a stunned moment, the two of them just grinned and laughed at each other's clumsiness. More weird glances were sent their way, but they were ones that they didn't notice as they got to their feet again, this time successfully.

Alfred beamed brightly, toothpaste-commercial style, and clapped Gilbert on the back. "Thanks for pushing me out of the way. Couldn't react fast enough."

"Of course. Vhat, vas I supposed to let _mein freund _get run over by a bunch of idiots?" Gilbert shook his head, punching Alfred in the arm. "Jou have my back, und I have jours. It's vhat friends are for!"

"Stop being all sappy on me, Jesus Christ," Alfred teased, nudging Gilbert with his shoulder, which made the other cackle, a brash but hearty sound that suited only him. They began walking again, with no destination in mind still, but they didn't really care. It was after walking another city block that Gilbert had noticed something amiss.

"Hey, jour sweater's all wet."

Alfred blinked as he was addressed, giving the other a confused look, before he turned his head over his shoulder, then shrugged, turning back to the front. "Oh, yeah. You kinda shoved me into a puddle. No big deal." His pants were wet too, but he didn't think too much of it. It was a tad uncomfortable, but it would dry.

Alfred turned his head at the sound of a zipper being unzipped, and furrowed his brows as he watched Gilbert taking off his jacket. "Hey, what're you doing?" He questioned just as the elder Beilschmidt brother held his hand out, black jacket in tow.

"Take it."

Alfred politely pushed his hand away, shaking his head. "It's a bit of muddy water. Don't worry about it."

"_Ja_, but I pushed you into it."

"You saved me from a bunch of roller-skating idiots. I think a little water is fine."

"It's more like mud. Just take it."

"You'll be cold."

"It's a little wind. Besides, _Deustchland_ gets cold all zhe time. Just take it, Jones."

Alfred's lips quirked up a little in a smile as the other said his surname. He couldn't really pronounce the "J" sound in "Jones" all that well, so it sounded more like "Ch-ones" or "Y-hones". Gilbert seemed to notice his little slip up and his cheeks flushed a little pink, and he nudged Alfred with his arm. "My arm's getting tired vaiting here. It technically is jour jacket, anyvay."

Alfred hesitated for a moment longer, then sighed, pulling off his red sweater and trading with Gilbert, pulling the black jacket around him after rearranging his shirt, which had almost been pulled off with the hoodie. "Thanks, again."

Gilbert draped the red hoodie over his arm and flashed him a cocky smile. "Shut up und help me decide on vhat ve're gonna do today."

After a pause and random looking around, they glanced at each other and nodded, coming to a conclusion simultaneously.

"Skating."

.

.

.

"Bad idea! Baaad idea!"

So, in the end, they had decided to go ahead and go skating. However, the only local rink that was within walking distance was an ice-rink at the downtown mall complex.

"C'mon! Stop hugging the wall! Look, that little girl is better than you!"

"Shut up! Let me go!"

While they both knew how to roller skate, one of them had never set foot in an ice-rink and was having a bit of a hard time adjusting to skating on lethal blades in a very, very slippery rink jam-packed with parents and their children, teenagers racing around the rink, and just groups of people looking for some approaching-winter fun.

"This isn't what awesome people do, Gilbert!"

"Damn right it isn't! Let's go home!"

"That is _not_ what I meant, mister! You're gonna skate with me!"

"_Fick dich ins Knie!_ No!"

"Oh, don't go spouting German at me! And I will not go fuck myself! Come—" Alfred tugged on Gilbert's shoulders from behind, grunting in complaint. Gilbert gave a whine and clung to the wall that closed the rink off from the rest of the mall. "—on!"

"Security! I'm being harassed!" The Prussian cried out in vain, and Alfred gritted his teeth, giving another pull with a roll of his eyes.

"Fuck you, man! I'm trying to help!"

"Zhis isn't helping!"

Alfred stopped pulling and sucked in a breath in frustration. He wouldn't let go! They paid for admission and skates, and he wouldn't let go! This was money wasted—and he had been the one to pay! He was not going to allow that!

"Gilbert."

Gilbert didn't budge, but he found the blonde's voice to be closer.

"Gilbert, look at me."

He still didn't move, but he knew Alfred was even closer than before.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Gilbert swallowed and turned his head slowly, only for his nose to bump against another. He opened his eyes hesitantly, then flinched, finding an azure gaze, not the color of the sky but not quite the color of the sea either, staring right back at him from a couple of inches away. He could feel himself being pinned to the wall, and he found himself very uncomfortable. It didn't help that he could feel Alfred's breath fanning onto his face, and he could smell it, too—they hadn't eaten anything yet, so it still smelled like peppermint toothpaste.

Alfred had him up against the wall, hands now caught around his wrists, his face only inches away from his own. Gilbert gulped as he felt his hands be slowly worked away from the wall and be taken into another set of hands, the American's hands.

"C'mon. Just skate. You'll be fine." Alfred said calmly, softly, as he leaned away and kept Gilbert against him as he backed away from the wall, almost dragging a limp, subdued and dazed white-haired teen as he went.

"Stand up slowly. I've got you."

Gilbert had no other choice but to comply with Alfred's wishes, slowly coming to a stand with his knees stiff and his stature tense as ever. He had to clutch to the other's hands to keep himself steady, which were spread in an eagle-formation out to the sides of them, as they had been when Gilbert was leeching to the wall. His face was as bright as a Coca-Cola can, his red-violet eyes averting themselves as Alfred slowly turned him around, keeping a firm grip so neither of them would slip.

"It's just ice." Alfred reassured the other, smiling as the Prussian avoided his gaze. It was another moment of silence, before Gilbert muttered something.

"Jou said my last name wrong."

Alfred just grinned and laughed, and as soon as the albino heard that sunny, warm laugh, his tension broke and melted like ice cream on a hot summer's day. He couldn't help but chuckle himself.

"Yeah, I know. We suck at saying each other's names. Now shut up and let me teach you how to skate, okay?"

"Alright. But do jou have to be zho touchy-feely?"

"Yep. C'mon, we've done worse. Dare I mention that one game of Just Dance?"

Gilbert's face, which had been dying down in color, flared up again. Alfred looked unbothered, amused at the turn of events. He didn't say anything in reply, just pulling back, turning so they were standing side-by-side, and hooked his left arm in Alfred's right. This earned some eyebrow raising, and Gilbert refused to look at the other, still embarrassed. "Just hurry up und get moving."

"No problem." Alfred still had his signature grin plastered to his face as he began to start out slow. "Just start like you were walking. It's just like rollerblading. You've done this before."

"But rollerblades won't cut off your fingers if you fall."

"I'll teach you how to fall later—"

"How do jou teach someone to fall?"

"To fall _properly._ There's a technique to it. Just focus on walking. Let's stay close to the side so we don't get run over."

Gilbert pressed his lips together and gave a snort, watching his feet uneasily as he slowly inched along, afraid of falling at any given moment. Sure, Alfred's teaching presence was indeed soothing and assuring, since he would probably catch him or hold him steady, but it didn't make him any less apprehensive on this. Why did he agree to this? Why?

After a few minutes he felt Alfred leave his side, and Gilbert whirled his head around, eyes wide with panic. "Hey, vhat're jou doing?"

"Shh. Calm down." Alfred gestured with his hands, "You're doing fine. Not even holding onto the wall."

Gilbert hitched his breath and just about slipped as soon as Alfred finished speaking, only to catch himself mid-fall, squatting with his arms out in front of him. Looking up he could see his blue-eyed companion trying his best not to crack up, and he narrowed his eyes, scoffing as he slowly edged back up to a stand, releasing the breath he had been holding.

"Some help jou are."

"Thanks. And stop being so tense—you're as stiff as a board. You'll hurt yourself."

"I'll hurt myself either vay!"

"Oh, stop complaining. You're letting second graders show you up," Alfred glanced out into the rink, Gilbert hesitantly following his gaze. Sure enough, a little girl was skating down the way with expertise in her step. She looked no more than seven or eight. The girl performed a pirouette, landed nicely with only a bit of stumbling, and after another turn to go the opposite way, she turned and started skating backwards to talk to another girl who seemed her age. Gilbert's jaw hung open as he watched, and Alfred sputtered a bit in concealed laughter, which was cut off with a grunt as Gilbert's fist connected with his side.

"Zhen fucking teach me und stop standing zhere." Alfred turned his head and was met with a pair of steely red eyes, a pale face with sharp features, a pair of thin lips drawn tightly together, all set in determination. Alfred smirked, "Hey, at least I'm not Mattie trying to teach you. He would've shoved you out here and expected you to figure it out on your own."

"No vay little Matt vould ever do such a zhing!" Gilbert remarked incredulously, and Alfred nodded. "How do you think I learned? I mean, he helped me after I slipped on my ass like twenty times, but still." He nudged the other lightly, keeping alongside him as steadily as he could possibly go on bladed shoes.

"Chin up, keep looking forward." Gilbert nodded, turning to the front.

"Relax. Just picture you're rollerblading. It's really similar, the terrain's just different and you have blades instead of wheels." Alfred urged gently, choosing to speed up just a bit to give Gilbert the incentive to keep up. "Keep your body loose and relaxed and you'll find it much easier to glide along. Give yourself some slack."

It was really hard to 'give yourself some slack' when you were ready to fall down and bust your ass at any moment, but it couldn't hurt too much to try. Just like rollerblading? Well, when he first started out with that, back home, he had clung to the wall, too. Ludwig had been a quick learner, and so he had to get coaxed away from the wall by his baby brother. It was a bit embarrassing being shown up twice by people who were younger than him, but he bit back any rude comments, trying to focus on just skating.

Gilbert took a few long moments to relax, but once he did, Alfred was sure to acknowledge it. "Good. Now, bend your knees slightly and lean forward. Not too much. I know it sounds weird. I'll catch you if you fall."

That still didn't reassure the Prussian all that well, but he complied very slowly, obviously afraid of making contact with the ice. Especially considering, well, he didn't have any protection covering his arms—they hadn't been planning on ice skating from the get-go, so all he wore was a blue T-shirt and some black jeans at the present moment. They had left Alfred's hoodie with their other stuff, such as their shoes, back at the register. Not a wise move.

He had become distracted with his attempts not to hit the ice, and he found himself leaning forward too much. He yelped and leaned back sharply to balance himself out, though this just ended with him landing square on his rear and back. He quickly sat up, breathing rapidly from the shock, and from the cold dampness seeping in his clothes. Alfred was leaning over him, though he didn't offer his hand.

"Vell? Could I get some help here?"

Alfred shook his head, standing back. "You gotta get up yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"Get up, brush it off, and keep going. Rome wasn't built in a day! Oh, and make sure your hands are clenched into fists as long as you are not standing on the ice. Don't need to lose any fingers."

"Aren't jou a ray of sunshine?" Gilbert muttered crossly, biting his lip. He looked down at himself, and clenched his fingers in as the other had instructed, not wanting to lose any of his digits anytime soon. After a bit, he shakily got to his feet, trying desperately to not go for the wall for support. He didn't need a crutch of any kind; he could do this on his own. He stumbled a bit more, but stood, sucking in a breath, then exhaling with relief as he realized he wasn't going to fall again, yet.

"See? Not so bad—hey, wait, what're you doing?"

Gilbert had already begun to maneuver his way away from Alfred, trying his best to replicate rollerblading. It wasn't much different at all, it was just that ice had less friction than wooden floors, and that was really it. He wasn't going too fast, of course, not like he would in a rollerskating rink, but fast enough to have Alfred confusedly scrambling after him.

"Gilbert, c'mon, I haven't finished teaching you yet!"

The albino glanced over his shoulder as Alfred started to catch up, and shrugged, smiling and choosing to speed up some more, much to the American's dismay. "Maybe I've got zhe hang of it already."

"Dude, not fair! I fell on my ass many more times than you did when I started out!"

"I learn quickly."

"Yeah, except in math."

"Vhatever!" Gilbert then started to skate off, beaming with newfound confidence. It wasn't so hard! This was good for his first time

It wasn't long before he fell forward to hit his face on the ice again, with Alfred coming by quickly to make sure he was okay, but Gilbert learned to just get up, shake it off, and keep moving. After which, every time he fell on his ass again, it left Alfred laughing, which usually made him fall as well.

The day was good. They skated on for another hour or so, went around the mall, got a bite to eat and watched a movie(which had to be a horror flick, according to Alfred's constant insistence), then simply went home. They parted their ways once they left the downtown area, and were both greeted with overly-worried, shouting siblings who hadn't heard from them all day. Who had also been calling them and texting them, all day long, wondering where the hell they had been.

Turns out their phones were on silent the entire time. Bromance and bonding were much more important at the moment.

* * *

**NOTE: I have a friend at my school who's of German descent and speaks it well around his household. Some of the dialect I use for the German brothers is actually from his mouth, such as the sounds when he speaks English. Of course, he's been in America for quite some time and it's quickly going away, but it's still there and slips into his speech every now and then. When I first met him a few years back, he had a hard time with our English 'J'(like in 'bluejay'), among other sounds in our alphabet, like our rolling 'R'(like in 'squirrel'). He told me not all Germans sound this way and that it just depends on where you're from, but since I have no other source of German-speaking-American-English lying around, Gilbert and Ludwig's manner of speaking are based off of my friend and the way he used to speak. ^-^ If that made any kind of sense. I'm not good at explaining things at all when I'm typing!**

**I dunno why I decided to bring it up, but I did! I guess I was just thinking if anyone was wondering why I type their speech the way I do. **

**Translations:**

**(drawn from Google Translate[i mean i could've asked my friend but i don't really contact him unless we're at school], so sorry if it butchers the beautiful German language ;-;)**

**_"Amerikaner." _****– "American."**

**_"Na, du Wichser! Spinnst du oder was?! Was soll der Scheiss?! Sie Hurensöhne, komm zurück! Ich schiebe Ihre Rollschuh in den Arsch , du Stück Scheiße! Mein Gott , haben Sie keine verdammte gesunden Menschenverstand? Idioten! Sie fast getötet ficken uns! Frechen Kerle!"_**** – "Hey, jerk-off! Are you fucking nuts?! What was with that shit?! You sons of bitches, come back here! I'll shove your roller-skate up your ass! You piece of shit! My God, have you no common sense? Idiots! You nearly fucking killed us! Insolent wretches!"**

**_"Was für Arschlöcher!"_**** – "What assholes!"**

**_"Mein Gott, das pisst mich an…!"_**** – "My God, that pisses me off!"**

**_"Mein freund."_**** – "My friend."**

**_"Ja." – "Yes/Yeah."_**

**_"Deutschland."_**** – "Germany."**

**_"Fick dich ins Knie!" –_**** "Go fuck yourself!"**

**So, yeah. Just some bros bonding. Not much else.**

**I didn't know how to end this? I just really wanted to get it out already. It's nearly been a month.**

**Reviews are always welcomed, constructive criticism is appreciated.**

**I have no clue what I'm gonna do for Chapter 4. See you!**


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